


Pink-Pussy Dream Girl

by formalizing



Series: Tumblr Writing [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossdressing, Feminization, M/M, Sam In Panties, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: Sam is first crush, first time, first love hopeless for his brother.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on Tumblr](http://all-these-formalities.tumblr.com/post/139830798254/dean-likes-girls-he-likes-their-made-up-faces).
> 
> Written for the following anon prompt: Obsession disguised as romantic love

Dean likes girls. He likes their made-up faces, their curves covered in black lace, the way they get wet for him when his hand creeps up under their skirts.

Sam likes Dean. He likes those northern lights eyes, that mouth that smiles when it calls him brother, those hands that used to hold Sam’s own to walk him across the street.

Sam is first crush, first time, first love hopeless for his brother.

He stands in front of mirrors and presses his lips together between his teeth until they look kissable, pinches the tiny nubs of his nipples until they’re hard enough he can see them through his t-shirt. He lets his hair grow as long as dad will let him get away with, like that might tempt Dean’s fingers into grabbing it.

He listens with greedy ears at thin doors for just a little taste of the honeyed-whiskey sound of Dean’s voice when he’s got his dick wet.

He says things like, “Y’like that, sweetheart? Gonna come for me?”

They all respond with some version of ‘oh god, oh god,’ high and breathy and _wrong_.

Sam would never call out god’s name when it’s Dean between his legs, taking him to heaven.

It’s always Dean’s name he swallows down with mouthfuls of tepid shower water, fucking himself with just one finger and a handful of motel soap suds so he stays cherry-tight—crossed-leg, Sunday school virgin-tight—even as he dreams of love notes written in white on his insides.

He wears jeans that were broken-in on his brother’s thighs, heavy denim perfect for hiding delicate, black fishnets. They’re only drugstore quality, the first pair he could stuff into his coat at CVS, and he can feel the cheapness of the nylon leaving the lines of their floral pattern on his skin. They’re getting dangerously close to tearing each time he hooks his fingers in them and works them up from his bunched-together toes to the middle of his skinny thighs.

The panties are a pair he found forgotten in the backseat of the car, bad girl black and silky. Every time he wears them, he squirms with the phantom feel of his brother’s fingers; pressing, rubbing, tugging them down and leaving them to get lost.

They look slutty hanging from his ankle when he has his legs up, just a little damp because he was hard and leaking the whole time he had to wait for Dean to leave for his date. But now he’s sprawled half-naked and shameless in Dean’s bed, surrounded by the smell of Aqua Velva aftershave and brother on the pillow. He tucks his hard cock between his thighs like a secret so he can pretend that he’s a pink-pussy dream girl as he works cheap, sticky-thick lube into his hole until it’s melty from the heat of him.

If Dean ever crept his hand up between Sam’s legs, he’d find Sam could get girl-honey wet for him, too.

In Sam’s best fantasies, Dean asks him, “ _Just what kinda girl are you, sweetheart?_ ”

Because only easy girls spread their legs like this, but easy girls don’t have cunts half as tight as Sam’s.

“ _Yours_ ,” he always imagines he would say, fucked-rough and full of cock that very first time. “ _M’your girl, Dean_.”

He doesn’t even hear the car roar up, doesn’t hear anything but the filthy, squishy squelch of his finger moving in and out of the mess between his legs, the old mattress springs squeaking like a reprimand under him, his own heart beating in his ears as he whips his head around to look at the doorway when his brother mutters, “Holy shit.”

He knows he should stop—should drag the sheets up over his lap like they can ever come back from this—but he can’t. He can’t, because Dean’s wide eyes are finally on him, they _see_ him, and he’s coming all over himself without so much as a hand on his dick, moaning Dean’s name before he can think to choke it back down his throat.

He isn’t sure what he expected would come next—anger, disbelief, or even worse, outright denial—but he doesn’t expect Dean’s shaking hand running up his tights. It’s beyond his wildest dreams to feel nails scratching like Dean wants to tear the fabric right off, until he gets up to the top, to where Sam’s still got one numb finger stuck inside.

“Thought you had a date,” Sam says, like it even matters when he’s breathless and exposed, when Dean’s using both hands to pull his cheeks apart to get a better look at where he’s red and slippery.

“Forgot my wallet,” Dean says, off-handed as he drags one finger though the slick mess all around Sam’s hole. “This what you get up to when I’m gone? Hmm?”

He pushes Sam’s legs straight up by his trembling knees and Sam drops down to his back so he can get one arm behind them to hold them there. Sam has never felt more pin-up perfect than he does with his cheeks flushed and Dean’s hands on his come-covered thighs.

“Well, hell, Sammy,” Dean growls, and Sam feels like he might choke on his tongue when a finger much wider than his own starts pressing into him. “Might’ve just stayed home if I’d known there was pussy already on offer.”

Sam wants to tell him it’s always on offer, but Dean drives that finger all the way home—where Sam’s slick enough to take it, but tight enough that it still feels like it’s splitting him in two—and the only word that makes it past his lips is, “Please.”

“Don’t even need to take y’to the movies, huh, baby? Y’know what they call girls who put out before the first date?”

Sam would come again if he could, can feel the throb of his cock filling again as he murmurs, “Your kinda girl.”

Dean likes girls, and Sam is gonna be his very best one.


End file.
